by Ella Frank
“I don’t believe you,” he said, and Logan decided that the time for waiting was over.
They’d been given the go-ahead from the doctor, and ever since then, he’d wanted nothing more than to get back inside his man.
He took ahold of Tate’s jacket and tugged him forward for a kiss before stepping around him. When Tate turned, his legs hit the small stool near the table, and he moved to the side of it. Logan then backed him up until his ass bumped the edge of the vanity and he could box him in and get between his legs.
“Maybe I need to prove it,” Logan said, removing his glasses and placing them on the counter. Then he slid his hands into Tate’s hair and tilted his face up. Since Tate was half seated, Logan found himself hovering over him, and he loved the position.
“Maybe you do,” Tate dared him.
Logan lowered his head, and when their lips were only a whisper apart, he suggested, “Maybe you should take off my pants and see for yourself.”
Needing no further invitation, Tate undid his belt buckle, and his eyes darkened as he then unbuttoned his pants. Tate’s mouth curved at the edges, enjoying the tease, because this time was different. This time, they both knew—I’m going to end up inside him.
He looked behind Tate to the mirror and groaned at the visual he got. He flexed his fingers in all of those windblown curls, and it reminded him of that night months ago at Whipped. The night where Tate had danced up against him.
He also remembered the explicit fantasy he’d had of taking him that way—naked, in front of a mirror. A fantasy he was about to make a reality.
“Stand up,” he said as he released Tate’s hair and took a step back.
After shrugging out of his jacket, Logan threw it on the bed behind him. Tate was toeing off his shoes now that he’d removed his coat and tossed it on the floor. Then he brought his hands to his pants.
“No,” Logan said. “Just the sweater for now.”
Tate paused for only a second and then used his left hand to pull the sleeve down his right arm. The doctor had told him not to raise it unless need be, but other than that, everything should be working just fine.
Logan watched him pull the top over his head and loved the image of him in just his pants. Tate’s olive skin always had him wanting to run his tongue over it, and the sight of him with no shirt had him springing into action to get as naked and as close to that body as possible. Kicking his shoes off, Logan finished undressing and then straightened to see Tate palming himself through his pants, watching him with hungry eyes.
He knew exactly what Tate was feeling. It’d been too long. Way too long since he’d been able to let go and take him the way he used to. He ached to sink his body inside Tate’s, and Logan knew he was aching for it too.
“Do you remember that night we went dancing?” he asked, and as Tate nodded, Logan trailed his fingertips down his smooth chest to his navel. “You spent the entire time grinding all over my cock, and I promised myself that, one day, I’d see you like that. Naked and pressed up against me in front of a mirror. Then I could see every mouthwatering inch of you.”
Understanding dawned in Tate’s eyes.
Then Logan whispered, “Take off your pants, Tate.”
Tate unfastened his pants, and Logan couldn’t help but wrap his arm around his waist and stroke the crack of his ass, easing his finger down to graze it over his vulnerable hole.
“Today’s that day. Turn around.”
* * *
Tate felt hypnotized by Logan’s voice and the finger massaging him, but without question, he turned. He hadn’t even thought twice about the mirror, which pretty much extended along the entire length of the dividing wall, but when his eyes found Logan’s in it, he wondered how he’d overlooked the possibilities.
Tate watched avidly as Logan pulled him flush against his groin, fitting his ass exactly where he’d said it had been that night—over his cock. He then leaned back against his chest, feeling a shiver skate up his spine as Logan’s warm breath ghosted over his ear.
“So sexy,” Logan rasped, snaking an arm around his waist to dip his fingers into the front of his open pants. “You’re so fucking sexy, Tate.”
When Logan’s fingers wrapped around him and stroked, a groan of pure pleasure pulled from his throat.
“Like that?” Logan asked as he did it again.
“Yes,” he sighed and caught Logan’s eyes in the mirror. “Do it again.”
“Or maybe like this?” Logan suggested, drawing his fist up to the tip of him, where he twisted his wrist in a way that had his toes curling into the plush carpet under foot.
“Oh, hell,” he cursed and grabbed Logan’s forearm. He turned his head to capture Logan’s mouth, and as their lips met, he pushed his cock back through the strong fist working him.
Tate wrenched his mouth free when Logan’s other hand moved to the base of his throat, where he held him in place and started to press fervent kisses down the side of his neck to his shoulder. As he scraped his teeth along the top of it, Tate dug his fingers harder into the arm holding him. Logan raised his eyes to meet his in the reflection, and it was all he could do to keep his knees from buckling.
The expression in Logan’s eyes was wild. It was proprietary, and as he continued to take in the rest of the picture they made, Tate watched those full lips curve against his shoulder.
“I’m going to enjoy this for so many reasons,” Logan told him. “But one of them will be watching your face when you finally see how good we look together—fucking.”
Goddamn. Tate knew how hot the gay porn had made him. Watching two guys going at it had been extremely arousing. So just thinking about how sexy Logan must look while fucking him had him really excited. It was a reaction he couldn’t hide from the man behind him, because as soon as the idea had been planted, Tate jacked his hips forward, trying to get more friction on his dick.
“Oh, yeah. See?” Logan whispered, his voice husky. “You like that idea, don’t you? Watching us fuck?”
Hell fucking yes, I do, he thought. But instead of saying it, Tate turned his head and kissed Logan’s filthy-talking mouth, which was still issuing promises so hot they almost melted him to the ground. He heard an agonized sound of arousal that matched his own, and then his body and his lips were released. Logan’s scorching, blue eyes found his and he simply said, “Watch.”
* * *
Logan dragged his eyes away from Tate’s and ran them down the length of his spine. The guy’s skin is fucking delicious, he thought as he smoothed his palms down his sides and placed a kiss at the base of his neck. Tate’s hair tickled his nose, and Logan smiled as he started to trace his tongue down the long line of him. When he got to the curve of his lower back, he slipped his fingers into the black pants and crouched to pull them over the rise of Tate’s ass.
As he dragged them and his boxers to his ankles, Tate’s eyes found his in the mirror. He put a hand on the side of the vanity to balance himself and then lifted his foot without the need for instruction.
Once Tate’s remaining clothes were gone, Logan let the connection between them be severed so he could focus on the ass he was now eye level with. He ran his index fingers up the insides of Tate’s legs to behind his knees, and when he got to them, he flirted there for a moment, drawing invisible circles.
“Tate?” he asked, moving so he could rest his temple against Tate’s hip.
“Yeah?”
Logan turned his head and nipped at the smooth skin of his hipbone. “I can’t see when I’m down here,” he explained, and then he turned back to Tate’s heated gaze in the mirror. “So you’re going to have to tell me what I’m missing.”
One of Tate’s hands circled his cock and he started to masturbate for him with a tense look of concentration on his face.
Oh, yes. He loves that idea.
Logan grabbed his bag from the stool beside him and unzipped it to get the bottle of lube he’d packed. He then placed it on the counter for later, shoved the bag
aside, and shifted out of view. Tate’s body rocked forward, slightly away from him, and Logan knew he was fucking his fist. But there was no sound in the room other than—yes, there it is—the ragged bursts of air that kept escaping Tate with every snap of his hips.
Logan grinned as he sank his teeth into the firm globe of Tate’s ass, and when a feral fucking growl came from above, he said, “I don’t hear you talking, Tate.” He ran his hands over the rounded curve of Tate’s behind and then gave it a sharp pinch.
“Shit, Logan.”
Logan chuckled and then kissed the abused spot before saying, “Start talking. What do you see?”
* * *
What do I see? Tate thought as he continued to stroke himself and think about Logan kneeling behind him.
“I see me, standing naked in an expensive hotel suite. The curtain is open on the side of the room, and I see your clothes all over the bed behind us…which is fucking hot.” He braced his left hand on the side of the vanity as Logan chose that moment to run his tongue over the dip of his lower back.
“What else?”
Tate felt his breathing speed up as his eyes took in the X-rated picture in front of him. “I see one of my hands against the vanity and one pumping my cock—” He abruptly stopped talking as Logan stood up behind him and drew his fingers lightly down his crack to his balls.
“Come on, Tate,” Logan taunted. “Don’t you know by now? I want details.” His hand gently cupped his sensitive sac, and he blew a hot breath against his ear. “All the dirty ones.”
Tate closed his eyes for a moment, trying to get ahold of himself, when Logan decided to make that a nearly impossible task.
“Mhmm. But while you’re thinking about it,” he said, and Tate opened his eyes to watch as Logan walked around the side of him and moved between him and the vanity, leaning his bare ass against the table. “Why don’t you put your foot up on this stool and watch me suck your balls into my mouth before I swallow you down my throat.”
Tate groaned as his eyes shifted to the mirror beyond Logan’s shoulder, and then, without hesitation, he placed his foot on the small upholstered stool. The salacious smile on Logan’s mouth as he dropped to his knees had Tate once again bracing himself against the vanity wall, ready for anything. His eyes took in their reflection, and this time, he found his voice.
“Fuck. Okay,” he rushed out on a breath of air when he saw the back of Logan’s powerful shoulders shift as one of his palms cupped his ass. “I can see you on your knees in front of me. The back of your head and hair, and every time you smooth your hand over my ass, your shoulder blades—”
Logan leaned in where his leg was raised and dragged his tongue down his thigh to suck one of his balls between his lips.
“Oh, Jesus, Logan.” Tate tightened a fist around himself and shut his eyes, fighting back the orgasm that was building. He squashed it down, knowing that, if he could hold it off somehow, the reward would be out of this world. He felt Logan’s lips sucking the tender flesh scrunched high between his legs and forced himself to open his eyes. He didn’t want to miss a fucking thing.
Tate could see the silky, black hair of Logan’s head as he dipped down under him to torment with teasing licks and flicks of that rapacious tongue. He was relentless in his mission to have him on the ragged edge, and Tate knew when Logan lifted his head, sat back on his knees, and looked over his shoulder to the mirror at him that he’d just fucking started.
“You know what I see, Tate?”
Tate wasn’t quite sure he was ready for this. Wasn’t sure his legs would be strong enough to hold him up. But by God, he was willing to chance it.
“What?” he demanded.
Logan must’ve liked the bite to his tone, because his eyes darkened in the reflection and he licked his lower lip. “I see your fingers gripping the wall so hard your knuckles have turned white. Your left bicep is bulging, trying to keep you steady, and I see that thick cock in your fist that you want to shove in my mouth right now.” Logan turned back from the mirror and looked up at him from where he was kneeling on the ground. “Don’t you?”
Tate fucked his hips forward, and when the shiny head of him bumped against Logan’s lips, he parted them.
“Give it to me.”
Tate needed no further invitation.
He gazed down his body and guided his erection into Logan’s waiting mouth. As his lips slid along his shaft, Tate glanced up to the mirror, balanced with the one hand on the vanity, and brought the other to the back of Logan’s head.
Fucking hell, the sight of Logan Mitchell naked, on his knees, and sucking his cock down his throat made Tate feel like the luckiest fucker on the planet—he looked unbelievable there.
Tate pushed his hips forward, and with his leg still propped on the stool, he got a nice, deep slide. Luckily for him, Logan was practically a god when it came to giving head. He was so far down his throat that Logan’s nose was in his pubic hair and his lips were touching the skin of his groin.
“Logan,” he moaned and pulled himself free.
As Logan drew his lips off him, Tate twisted his fingers in his hair and tugged. When Logan got to his feet, the side of his mouth quirked and he walked around behind him, seeming to know he was ready for more.
“I’ve been thinking about fucking you ever since we parked my car at O’Hare.”
Tate closed his eyes as Logan’s palms smoothed down his sides to his ass and squeezed.
“You’ve been thinking about it too,” Logan continued, using his fingers to spread him apart, and then he swiped his tongue along his jaw. “Haven’t you?”
Tate clenched his teeth at the pleasure Logan was dishing out, and then sharp teeth nipped at his lobe when he didn’t answer.
“Haven’t you, Tate?”
Tate’s eyes found Logan’s in the mirror, and the feral fucking look swirling in them had him nodding fast. “Yes.”
He didn’t dare look anywhere but at the sinfully attractive man whose erection was rubbing a sticky, wet trail against the crack of his ass as he placed his cheek beside his own in the mirror.
They were both so incredibly different from the other, but as they stood there, rooted to their spots, they had one thing in common. The raw desire and emotion on their faces matched, and as Logan reached for the bottle of lube and opened it, Tate wanted to beg him to hurry.
“Wrap your left arm around my neck,” Logan ordered when he put the bottle back on the counter and wrapped his lubed-up fingers around his aching shaft. Tate’s eyes closed at Logan’s sensual touch, and as his head fell back on his shoulder, he heard him praise, “Perfection.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Tate was better than any fantasy Logan could’ve imagined as he stretched back against him with his leg still propped on the stool. He glided his slippery fist up and down his hard flesh, and with every wet slide, Tate would punch his hips forward—he was beautiful to watch.
“Open your eyes and see how amazing you are,” he said.
Once Tate’s heavy eyes had opened and found his, Logan greedily drank in the sight of him. His curls were brushing against his cheek; his shoulders were pressed back against his chest.
As he continued to use Logan’s hand as a hole to fuck, Logan growled in his ear, “Your body was made to be against mine.”
Tate panted. “Love how you feel behind me.”
Logan released the hold he had on him and placed his hands on either side of Tate’s waist. He then ghosted them over his hips as Tate reached down to continue pleasuring himself.
“That makes me real happy to hear, Tate, ’cause you’re about to feel a whole lot more of me behind you.”
Logan began to rub himself over Tate’s crack, and then he zeroed in on the image in front of them. He dipped his knees slightly, and when he saw the plump, wet head of his dick come into view between Tate’s thighs, Logan gnashed his teeth together to hold back the roar he felt building. Oh fuck, that’s hot, he thought as he repeated the sweet gl
ide and felt Tate’s balls against the top of his cock.
“You know what’s about to happen here, right?” he rasped, running his slick fingers down Tate’s crack to probe his tight opening. He could see Tate’s chest rise and fall as he continued to jerk himself off, and Logan pushed the tip of his finger inside him.
“Yeah…” Tate managed, though the answer was so low that Logan was thankful for the mirror so he could read his lips.
“I’m going to slide inside you. Right here. And you’re going to watch.”
Tate’s eyes were full of lustful challenge as he leaned toward the mirror, propped his arm up for support, and then bucked his hips back onto Logan’s hand. When his finger grazed over Tate’s prostate, Logan saw him grit his teeth and took the opportunity to enter him with two.
“Fuck…” Tate growled, and his head fell forward as Logan pushed his fingers all the way in so his palm was flat against the crease of his ass.
“Yeah, Tate. God, you’re tight.”
Tate lifted his eyes to meet his then, and the dark desire in them had all of Logan’s words skidding to a stop.
“I want it,” Tate said, his voice husky.
“You want—”
“This,” he demanded, using the hand he’d been stroking himself with to reach between his legs and touch the wet slit of Logan’s cock.
Logan’s breathing faltered as he removed his fingers, grabbed the lube, and took a hold of Tate’s ass. He poured some cool liquid between Tate’s spread cheeks then glanced down to look at what he wanted. Once he’d lined the tip of his erection up with the hole beckoning him, he raised his eyes to see Tate tasting the pre-come coating his fingertips.
Dirty fucker. Could he have found anyone more perfect for him? The answer was simple—hell fucking no. With that thought ringing through his ears, Logan dug his fingers into Tate’s flesh and slowly pushed inside.
“Christ…Logan…” Tate moaned as inch by delicious fucking inch he slid in farther.